The Whole Night
by N. Marie
Summary: Millicent Bulstrode doesn't go to clubs. [Femmeslash]


**Author:** By N. Marie  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Disclaimer**: If I owned them, you'd know. Don't sue me!   


Millicent Bulstrode didn't go out to clubs very often because she felt that they were a waste of her time.

  


She wasn't the sort of girl who needed to go out late at night, into dark holes full of the hopeless, where she could find a perfect stranger to fuck who, so drunk would be seeing someone else, and because of this would tell her she was beautiful. She didn't consider herself that desperate for affection, like Pansy seemed to be these days. 

  


Millicent wasn't worldly or extremely smart, but she was well aware that she was anything _but_ beautiful, and she'd grown to be okay with that so she didn't starve for those words like her friend. Millicent's towering height and thick build had never blossomed into something more womanly and graceful, like her mother had so often promised. She was still awkwardly built, still too large and still too rough looking for her own good and for the good of others too. Her face had never softened, either. She was still jagged angles and sharp features, but she couldn't imagine looking any other way anymore, even if she wasn't the prettiest thing to walk on two legs. A lifetime of looking like herself left her with something akin to fondness and she was as satisfied as she could be, being Millicent Bulstrode.

  


Tonight was an exception to Millicent's rule of not going clubbing, because Pansy had begged and pleaded — and true to their Slytherin upbringing — blackmailed her into this outing.

  


This outing that, thirty minutes into, Pansy had disappeared from with a tall black-haired Adonis into the men's bathroom. 

  


She still hadn't come out and Millicent, knowing her friend too well for her liking, deduced that she had probably Apparated from said bathroom with the brunette either along for the ride or still passed out in one of the stalls after one of the best orgasms of his life.

  


To Millicent, it was only sad that Pansy wasted all her energy on disgusting, random men who treated her badly. There was a point, long ago, where she had envisioned herself and Pansy together, wrapped in silk sheets every morning for the rest of their lives. But she'd long ago given that dream up. Pansy just didn't think of her that way and she didn't blame her for this. If she were Pansy, built like an hourglass with red lips too big and blonde hair too short, she wouldn't think hefty, black-haired Millicent with thin eyes and a wide nose was very desirable either.

  


And now, as Millicent sat cloaked in dark shadows of a nightclub, (the name long forgotten) she understood exactly why no one approached her for a quick romp in the bathroom or in a corner like they did Pansy. Millicent wasn't the sort of girl to have sordid affairs, she was too brute for those things and — and who was that coming toward her?

  


For a moment, Millicent thought it was Pansy, but as the person, a tall man in drag, came closer and passed her by, she realized that she was still leaning against the bar and no one was coming to have a look at her, they were just thirsty. The thought amused her and she turned her eyes from the direction of the bathroom — where she'd been watching for Pansy in the rare chance that she _hadn't_ left — to the dance floor. It was swarming with both men and women, bodies glistening with sweat and rubbing against one another.

  


Millicent zoomed in on one figure; a small woman, not very tall and not very wide, with unusually long, bushy hair that left her with a feeling reminiscent of her school days at Hogwarts. She was moving to the music like it owned her, and though her movements weren't very advanced or very graceful, her body swayed like she _understood_ the beats.

  


Millicent was in awe.

  


The woman, nearly indescribable since she was only an outline from the distance, danced with a man much taller than her, his ear length hair glinted unbelievably red in the spotlights and if he weren't moving so effeminately, Millicent would say he was a Weasley. But Millicent had gone to school with most of the Weasley sons and none of them had ever shone any sort of liking to any other school boys — unless she included the youngest, Ron's, almost scary obsession with that Krum Quidditch player and his trailing along like a puppy dog being the great Harry Potter — but no, what was she thinking about?

  


The man had been pulled further into the crowd by another faceless person and Millicent looked around to see if she could spot the sexy bushy-haired brunette anywhere, and smirked when she saw the woman brushing her hands across her face and stumbling toward the bar. She was only a few feet away from Millicent and Millicent wasn't trying to be coy so it didn't take long for the woman to notice she was being watched. She was still too far for her facial features to be made out in the dark club, but Millicent wasn't picky because she couldn't be. The woman glanced over her shoulder and then waved. The quick gesture seemed too much for her, because she went sprawling forward over the stool in front of her a moment later.

  


Millicent contained her laughter and turned back to the dance floor, with an ironic smirk across her face. That sealed it, it was now no wonder the woman had waved; she was drunk out of her mind. Well, it only figured, Millicent decided and lifted her own drink to her mouth. She was surprised when, only a few moments later, a soft hand tapped her shoulder. When she turned to find out who had done it, she was even more surprised to see that it was the woman from the dance floor and that that woman happened to be Hermione Granger. 

  


"I saw you watching me," Hermione half-shouted, half-laughed as she lifted her drink to her lips, "I thought you looked familiar and I had to see for myself."

  


"I think you're mistaken, I don't think you know me." Millicent was looking for an out already, something telling her to run while she still could. She was repulsed and amazed and truly, truly confused about tonight by now and she just wanted to go home already because things, she was sure, had just started to get weird and if she stuck around they would probably become more so. Millicent set her drink onto the bar counter she was leaning against and stood to her full height, ready to walk away. Hermione smiled and laughed, something Millicent wasn't expecting.

  


"Of course I know you. You're Millicent Bulstrode. You beat me up most of the time we were ever near one another, in school. How are you anyway," Hermione asked, her smile widening, her eyes slipping closed slightly.

  


Millicent smirked as Hermione stumbled over her words and swayed a bit. Yes, Millicent decided, it was probably best if she got out of here fast. She hadn't seen Potter's little female sidekick since their seventh year, when she and Pansy had completely left Britain to wait out the war, and she was in no mood for a makeshift, drunken reunion, especially with Hermione Granger.

  


"You're drunk," Millicent said for explanation and moved to grab her drink, so she could finish it before she left. Hermione waved her hand through the air and, before she could catch herself, stumbled forward. Her arms hit Millicent's chest. Hermione giggled and stood back up.

  


"I guess I am," Hermione said while she pushed her hair from her face. "It was Ron's idea," she said a moment later, "I came with him. He's gay now, you know." Millicent started a bit on the realization that the red-haired man had indeed been a Weasley. The thought made her laugh. Hermione laughed too, though she probably had no idea why.

  


"You're still drunk," Millicent said once their laughter had subsided and Hermione shrugged a little.

  


"I told you, it was Ron's idea. John, my ex, this real great prat, broke up with me last night because he found some French girl who can 'fulfill his needs' better than I can and Ron thought he and I should hit the town together since and all. You know, that's men logic right there, someone breaks up with you, go drink it off. If he hadn't been so, so, _ so adamant _… I could be at home, eating ice cream and reading a good book but instead I'm here, now, smashed and talking to Millicent Bulstrode. How are you, you never answered that, by the way."

  


Millicent tried to concentrate on Hermione's slurred and rushed babble, but she could only make out that Hermione's boyfriend was a great prat and that Hermione was drunk because of him, and also Ron, who was gay. Millicent felt her hopes — hopes she wasn't aware she'd had until then — drop when she realized Hermione, too, had a thing for disgusting men who treated women badly.

  


"Are you going to answer my question or do you want me to guess?" Hermione was moving to lean against the bar and pulling Millicent with her as she did. "I think you ought to know though, I'm in no condition to be guessing." 

  


Millicent considered this the understatement of the evening.

  


"Well, fine then, I'll guess, but it probably won't be pretty," and Hermione started to say something but stopped for a moment and then looked at Millicent with her brow furrowed. "What was I supposed to guess again?"

  


Millicent laughed for the second time that evening and pushed Hermione's hand off her shoulder. "You're cute drunk, but I think I should go now," Millicent began but Hermione pressed forward into her side and grinned.

  


"You think I'm cute? That's real nice of you to say." Hermione squeezed a little closer to Millicent and Millicent tried to step away. "Ron always tells me I'm cute, and so does his little pet … you know what I think? I think you're pretty cute yourself."

  


Millicent pulled away completely now and shook her head. "Now I _know_ you're drunk, Granger."

  


Hermione moved back up to Millicent and shrugged. "Okay, cute isn't the word to use, but — you know what?" Millicent only stared, waiting for what she was sure was an unintelligible response. "I think … I think, _fuck men_."

  


And before Millicent could do a thing, Hermione was pushing her entire body against Millicent's and pressing her lips against hers and Millicent lost herself in the feeling of ecstasy before she realized she was kissing Hermione back. It was happening too fast for Millicent to stop it and she guessed this is what mixing alcohol and sex were because she'd never done it before, but if it was always like this, she'd have to do it again. And things were way beyond Millicent's control by the time she and Hermione had gotten to the Floo and the next time Millicent even had a coherent thought, Hermione was half-naked pinned and moaning beneath her on a bed she didn't recognize. She pulled back and stared, her mind whirling and thoughts along the line of 'how the fuck did I let this happen' and 'how the hell did I get here' running rampant. Hermione's eyes snapped open and in a voice barely above a whisper and somewhere near a plea, said, "Oh, Merlin, _don't stop_." So, Millicent didn't because she really didn't want to and somewhere near morning, right before the sun rose, she fell asleep with Hermione collapsed at her side.

  


When she awoke, she felt a twinge of a headache, but most importantly, Millicent felt a warm body at her side that she was sure wasn't supposed to be there. She turned her head slightly and gaped as she glanced over Hermione's sleeping face. The woman looked peaceful and exhausted and though Millicent took some pride in the fact that she was the one who gave Hermione that expression, she had to get out of there before the other woman awoke to voice her regrets of the night before.

  


Millicent slipped from the bed as carefully as she could, but her thick build didn't make it easy and she stumbled a bit. She managed to make it to her clothes and into them without incident and she thanked the deities for this small favor. She gave Hermione's sleeping form one last look and shut the bedroom door, heading toward the living room where she knew there was a Floo. She was in no condition to Apparate, not after the night before.

  


She was surprised, and more than a little uneasy, when she spotted a blonde man standing in front of her only exit from the flat. He was slight and she could only see him from behind but she coughed a little, not knowing what else to do, but knowing she was bigger than him and if the need be, she could just fight him fist to fist and _then_ get out of there. He turned around and for the millionth time in the last two days, got a shock that rocked her system completely. 

  


Draco Malfoy was smirking at her and holding out a cup of coffee. "She'll be disappointed if you don't at least stay for breakfast," he said and Millicent could only stare. Malfoy laughed. Millicent stared some more. A new, stronger, deeper voice echoed from the kitchen, getting louder as it came closer.

  


"Is 'Mione awake yet," the voice was asking, and Millicent turned to see a shirtless Ron Weasley making his way into the room. He stopped when he saw Millicent and turned to Malfoy with a sigh. "You could have warned me, you know," Weasley was saying, but Millicent was too busy trying to turn things over in her head. The night before she'd let Pansy drag her off to a night club. At some point, Pansy had disappeared and was replaced by a very, very drunk Hermione. Then, a supposedly straight, though nonetheless drunk, Hermione had kissed her and, well, gone a lot further than kissing her, that was for sure. And now, she was standing in, what she assumed was Hermione's flat but where Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were standing together — probably hooked up in a way she didn't want to imagine for fear that it would wreck her wits — blocking her quiet escape. 

  


"Well," Weasley was talking again and Millicent turned to hear what he had to say because it was obvious he was talking to her, "you'll have to stay for breakfast, at least, you'll disappoint her if you don't."

  


"I —" Millicent started to say but a crash from the bedroom reverberated through the hallway and into the living room. Millicent turned to see a flustered, still half-naked, though she was tying her robe, Hermione trampling from the bedroom. She was out of breath and huffing, looking around frantically, but apparently not seeing anything, asking, "She didn't leave did she?"

  


Millicent didn't know what to do. She could quite honestly say she'd never been in a situation like this before in her life. When she got home, if she ever got home, she'd have to ask Pansy if _ she'd_ ever experienced anything like it.

  


"Oh, thank god," Hermione said as she stopped in front of Millicent, a small smile forming across her face. "I thought you'd left."

  


"I was on my way out," Millicent shrugged, unsure of herself, and Hermione's face fell, leaving Millicent confused at the reaction.

  


"You mean you won't stay for breakfast? You're sure? I'd like it if you did."

  


And Millicent looked over at Malfoy, whose smirk wanted to be swiped off his face and at Weasley, who appeared at a loss for words, and then back at Hermione, whose face was aglow with hope. She decided for the first time in her life that she agreed with Weasley.

  


"All right," Millicent said after a tense moment of silence, and her words were softer than she knew they could be, but she thought, as she said them: why not?

  
  


**Fin.**


End file.
